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LIGHT £? MIS' 

KATHARINE ADAMS 





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LIGHT and MIST 

A Book of Lyrics 



LIGHT and MIST 



By 

KATHARINE ADAMS 
n 

Author of "An Irish Day and other Poemj' 




THE CORNHILL COMPANY 
BOSTON 



Copyright 1918 
By The Cornhill Company 

9V 



OCT -9 !SiR 
©aA50;j770 



"-"V-vX* \ 



TO 

A. R. W. 



The author wishes to thank the editors of 
the following periodicals for permission to in- 
clude in this volume poems which originally- 
appeared in their pages: Contemporary Verse ^ 
The Delineator, the American Scandinavian 
Review, The Touchstone, the Boston Evening 
Transcript, The Columbia Literary Monthly, 
the Buffalo Express, and Otir Dumb Animals. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Sea Path 1 

Light and Mist 2 

The Little Town 3 

Wistfulness 4 

Joy in the Wood 5 

A Fog Land 6 

London 7 

My Dream Child 8 

Little Lad 9 

An Irish Day 10 

The Butterfly 11 

February in Ireland 12 

At Dawn 13 

Questioning 14 

"LaVeille — EtApres" 15 

In the Shadows 16 

Longing 17 

Light 18 

Down in the Glen 19 

Echo 20 

The Trumphet Vine 22 

The Blind Girls 23 

The Irish Soldiers 24 

Whispering Leaves 25 

Swedish Midsummer Night 26 

On the Road to St. Gatiens 27 

Irish Spring 28 

My Little House 30 

An Irish Garden 31 

Loneliness 32 

The Hunt 33 

A Phantom Sail 34 



PAGE 

A Wishing Well 35 

Red Rose 36 

My Room 37 

To Sydney 38 

Howth 39 

Color 40 

" The Face of Esther " 41 

Which 42 

Shan O'Inchichore 43 

A Star Lit Hour 44 

The Devil's Glen 45 

The Friends 46 

Christmas Eve 47 

"The Mist" 48 



A SEA PATH 

O LITTLE lonely path close where the 
sea lies sleeping, 
Do you still lead on through the lovely 
night, 
Above the moon-touched mists so slowly 
creeping, 
Do jou still glimmer in the opal light? 

I wonder, little path, are you still trailing 
Close to the rain-swept, white-rimmed, 
restless sea. 
That through the brooding air is softly 
wailing 
Some of its unspoken mystery. 

O, path sea strewn by angry wind's last 
gleaming. 
Are ancient towers above still watching 
near 
And faint and far a sea gull's lonely keening 
O, little rugged path, forever dear? 

If through the silent night you still are 
gleaming. 
Keep all your secrets from the silver sea, 
As once you did when two of us walked 
dreaming 
Of dear and lovely things that could not 
be. 

1 



LIGHT AND MIST 

THE glamour of the City is calling with 
its lure, 
It is calling with its clamour and its light; 
But the mist that's lying softly o'er a lonely 

Irish moor 
Seems nearer than the City's call tonight. 

The brilliance of the City is shining like a 

star, 
It is shining bright as incense at a shrine; 
But the glimmer of the peat fire in an island 

land afar 
Shines deeper far within this soul of mine. 



THE LITTLE TOWN 

BELGIUM — 1914 

'' I ^HERE is a Town now gray and sad, 

-*- Where children used to play, 
And peasant girls so gayly clad 
Would sing upon their way. 

There is a Tow^n, now still and dead, 
Where Flemish children smiled — 

Since then the sunshine sweet has fled 
With every little child. 



WISTFULNESS 

I COULD not see the land 
The mist lay all too deep — 
O, you who understand, 
Child, do not weep. 

I did not hear the bell 
That sounded from the shore, 
But in my soul a knell 
Sounding ever more. 

I shall not come to you 

Back from the sad world's pain 

Or see the dreaming blue 

Of your eyes again. 

You sing your evening song 
There in the candle light — 
Oh, but the hours lay long 
Out in the night! 



JOY IN THE WOOD 

WE made a driftwood fire, 
You and I. 
Where forest birds were dreaming, 
And a bad brown owl was scheming, 
As a baby star was gleaming, 
Soft and sh}'. 

The gray mist smoke grew gold, 

Gold and blue. 
And the thrilling shadows creeping, 
Where the jeweled flames were leaping. 
Brought the dreams of wood birds sleeping 

Close to you. 

We heard a night lark call 

Far and clear. 
And the answer's deep confessing, 
Soothed by silence sweet, caressing. 
Brought the wonder of God's blessing 

Very near. 



A FOG LAND 

THERE'S a fair land, a fog land far 
away — 
Such weary leagues between of tossing 
sea — 
It's sun-touched and dew-kissed and gray, 
And oh, it is so precious dear to me! 

'Tis a strange land, a bog land over there, 
And it holds a wondrous wealth of mystery. 

'Tis dream-like and fairy-like and rare, 
And it calls — it fairly calls my heart from 
me. 

'Tis a green land, a gold land in the sea, 
And it knows a w^orld of tears and joy and 
light; 

Sure, it's where I'm longing, longing so to be. 
Ah, I know that God is blessing it tonight! 



LONDON 

TWO of us— 
And the gray and black shadows 
Of London, 
Mist touched, mysterious, 
Sad figures at the crossings. 
Misery ! 
Insistent cry of voices, 
Boys' young voices calling news. 
Sheltered lights, 

The silent grief of Britain for her dead. 
Touching the City. 
Then suddenly 
Trafalgar Square, 
Silver shrouded, 
The face of Nelson, 
And in our eyes tears 
And in our hearts, 
I know not why — 
Peace. 



MY DREAM CHILD 

QOMETIMES through the shadows gray, 
^ As the fire burns low, 
From the dusk my dream child comes 
Timidly and slow. 

Often, in the twilight dim, 
Close to me she stands, 
Smiles at me and strokes my face 
With her dimpled hands. 

Sweet and wistful is her smile, 
Bonny brown her hair, 
And her eyes shine deeply blue 
In the firelight there. 

Then 1 hold her closely, 
Rock her to and fro. 
Whisper words of tenderness 
And she answers low. 

Just as she seems dearest 
And her eyelids close 
And I think her sleeping. 
My little dream child goes. 

Creeping through the shadows dim 
In the evening gray. 
Never looking back at me, 
So she slips away. 

8 



LITTLE LAD 



ONE still September day you ran to irie 
High up a hill where I was waitioi^ 
3'ou. 
How gold your hair gleamed in the sun 
And oh, your eyes — so blue, so blue! 



Your head held back to breathe the autumn 

air, 
Your arm flung round me and your eager 

smile — 
How precious is this thought of you to keep, 
Now that you have left me for awhile. 

They tell me when you climbed that other 

hill- 
Was it but one brief month ago ? 
You held j^our head thrown back to breathe 

the air 
And your young soldier face was all aglow 

As though you saw, beyond the hill's high 

crest. 
Some joy too deep to tell, a sign 
As tho' there waited for you there 
A greater love than mine. 



AN IRISH DAY 

SHADOWS and fairy mist-like gray, 
Stillness, joy half touched with pain, 
Ah, it was an Irish, Irish day 
That cannot come again. 

Violets and a gentle shower of rain, 
Primroses in darkest corners hidden. 

All along an Irish country lane — 

Tears come to my longing eyes, unbidden. 

Twilight and the shadows deeper creeping 
Through the gray a glimpse of golden 
furze. 

All the flowers and treetops sleeping, 
Just a faint breeze softly stirs. 

Turf fires, and the far-off call 

Of sheep, and in my memory 
I still can feel the magic of it all 

In dream-like ecstasy. 



10 



THE BUTTERFLY 

TT^RAIL wings, gold wings, 
-■- I found you where the sea 
Had tossed you in its heedlessness, 
And thrown you close to me. 

Rose wings, black wings 
Swept with angel blue. 
Seeing your dear helpfulness, 
My heart went out to 3^ou. 

Frayed wings, sad wings. 
Love has set you free 
As you flutter from my hands 
Through God's Eternity. 

For E. A. J. 

Point AbinOj Canada. 
Sept. I2th, 1917. 



11 



FEBRUARY IN IRELAND 

"O J^OWN bogs and silver pools that dream, 
■*-' Lying softly deep and dim 
With shadows, pools that gleam, 
And a young moon pale and slim. 

Birds that sing so soon, you say? 
Though faded is the golden gorse 
And heather moors are sad and gray 
After their fiery days — remorse. 

Black trees by winds swept stark and clean, 
Golden bracken, tangled, wet, 
And a flash of vivid green — 
The Irish green who can forget. 

In the woods a carpet faint and blue, 
Violets that feebly fling 
Their scent through all the evening dew. 
Telling of the wonder — Spring! 



12 



AT DAWN 

LILT of the thrush at dawn, 
Still is the air and cool; 
A young and timid fawn 

Stood by a flower-rimmed pool. 

Startled, with throat held high, 

Through the peaceful wood a sound 

Sharp, and a shot flies by, 
A crash, a cry and a bound! 

Lilt of the thrush at dawn, 

Innocence lying dead, 
Shot through the heart, a fawn — 

Sky in the East blood red! 

The air is cool and still, 

Softly the love-birds sing; 
Dear God, how could men kill 

So gentle and young a thing! 



13 



QUESTIONING 

"r\ O )^ou remember 
^^ How fantastic were the shadows 
In the silver silence 
Of the night, 
And how the seaweed seemed alive 
Upon the beach? 
Do 5'ou still see 
The first faint gleam 
Of dawn, 
And hear the crooning cry 
Of the sea-mew? 
Do you remember 
How you turned to me, 
With 5'our smile. 
Whimsically wondering 
If somewhere, 
Sometime, 
In some dream-haunted space 

Beyond this life, 
We two again should walk 
In the silence, 
Through the shadows 
Towards the daw^n? 



14 



''LA VEILLE— ET APRES" 



w 



ILD popples, 
Pink in the sunset, 
Golden wheat and the flicker of leaves; 
Wild lilies 
That dream in the moonlight, 
Pale in their beauty and peace that deceives. 
Wild poppies, 
Crushed into fragments, 
Wheat that is trodden, faces that stare; 
Wild lilies- 
Flower of the Christ Child — 
Trampled and crimson, 

Yet breathing a prayer. 



15 



IN THE SHADOWS 

T N the shadows she was dancing, 
■■- All in gray, 

Like a fay, 
Heart of me! she was entrancing. 

In the shadows she w^as swaying, 

Slow and light, 

As a sprite, 
Light and shade around her playing. 

In the shadows she was singing, 

Soft and low. 

To and fro. 
As she danced I heard her singing. 

In the shadows I was dreaming, 

Of this pearl. 

This gray-clad girl, 
Rainbow hopes around me gleaming. 



16 



LONGING 

HE went away from me 
And as he closed the gate, 
He smiled. 
And then I knew, I know not why, 

He w^oiild not come again — 
But the smile stays and flutters at my heart. 

Autumn dajs are here again 
Smoke-filled air, listless flying leaves, 
Garden paths grown gray, 
News of recent victories. 

Yet he is gone — 
But In the late twilight 
I sometimes think I see him smiling 
At the gate. 



17 



LIGHT 

THE child was blind, but dearly sweet, 
She could not speak, yet she was fair, 
I used to guide her faltering feet 

Through easy paths, but night was there. 

She could not see the golden sun, 
Or tell me of her thoughts, or sing. 

Or know how wondrous tasks are done, 
Or hear the night bird's echo ring. 

But one most wondrous star-bright night 
The soul in her dull eyes awoke ; 

Christ gave to her the gift of Sight, 
God's angel touched her, and she spoke. 



18 



DOWN IN THE GLEN 

T^OWN In the glen 

•*^ Through the silence of the leaves, 

Listen ! 
You will hear, 
Softly clear, 

Music, 
And see glisten 

Silver wings. 

Something sings 
Down In the glen. 

Down In the glen 

In the wonder of the night, 

Hearken ! 
By the cool silent pool, 
Shadows, as they darken, 

See the gleam 

Of a dream 
Down in the glen. 

Down In the glen 

Where the moonlight weaves a path. 

Follow — 
You will see, 
In ecstasy, 

19 



Fairies dancing in the hollow 

Of a tree, 

Merrily, 
Down in the glen. 

For Little Mary. 



20 



ECHO 

ONE time I stood high in a dim green 
twilight and I heard, 
Deep in the valley, a sad call of children's 

last good-night, 
Then the sleep}^ twitter of a dreaming bird 
And everywhere a waning wistfulness of light. 
Gray were the clouds with no faint touch of 

crimson fire, 
The frail, late moon of coming made no 

silver sign, 
Opal stars, undaunted of their sweet desire, 
Faintly in palest tw^ilight dared to shine. 
And, as I watched, the west at last was 

touched with flame 
And stars grew gold as though from joy of 

answered prayer; 
I know not why but suddenly I called my 

name 
As I stood on the lonely hilltop there. 
And from the far, dim vales of mystery 
A once loved voice called back my name to 

me. 



21 



THE TRUMPET VINE 

Tj^ORGET-ME-NOTS are praying sweet 

-■- and bluey gray, 

Brown and golden wallflowers whisper fairy 

lore ; 
But fiercely holding fast the kiss of burning 

sun 
A scarlet flame is trailing above the cottage 

door. 



Proud and strong and sturdy, knowing not 
of fear. 

Beauty breathing fragrance as gleams the 
crimson wine. 

Friend of vagrant bees and the love of hum- 
ming birds. 

Sways the fearful beauty of the blazing 
Trumpet Vine. 



22 



THE BLIND GIRLS 

TN a long room they are weaving — 

•*■ Rose and blue and gold, 
Green and gray and mauve 
Are the colors that they weave — 

And the sunshine gilds the room, 

But they do not see the sunshine. 

In a long room they are weaving 
And their wistful faces 
Bend above their shuttles. 

Visitors pass by them speaking softly; 

Looking down with eyes of pity. 

Something brighter than the colors 
And the sunshine, 

Something deeper than the pity 
Of the strangers, 

Seems to hold the room in Silence 

And enfold it with protection. 



23 



THE IRISH SOLDIERS 

Tj^ROM the rough and rocky clijffs of Don- 
-*- egal 

To the green and shady valleys down in 
Clare, 
They are going, going forward, each and all, 
The share in their dear Empire's pain to 
bear. 

With smiles of hope and cheery Irish song, 
Ever looking straight before them to the 
fight. 
They are swinging, swinging off to crush the 
wrong 
And to help and have and hold and keep 
the Right. 

From the wonder of their dreamy Island land 
To the awful heat and horror of the strife, 

With a courage very fine and very grand, 
They are giving, giving, every man his life. 

And the glorj- of the splendid sacrifice 

Shall shine through all the ages yet to be, 

And the sun shall tell through weeping Irish 
skies 
It is living, living through Eternity. 



24 



WHISPERING LEAVES 

T EAVES were whispering in the night, 
-'— ' Long ago on a Terrace high, 
Fireflies flickered their greenish light, 
In that hour of my life gone by. 

Joy will come with the changing years, 
Life her wonderful pattern weaves. 

But I shall remember through mists of tears 
The whispering of the leaves. 



25 



SWEDISH MIDSUMMER NIGHT 

WONDER— 
Silence of midnight! 
Where are the stars? 
Hidden in flame, 
In gold and ameth)'st, 
In crimson and bronze. 
The sk}' is fearful 

In its beauty. 
Through the narrow waterways 

Boats glide, 

White boats, 
Out to the opal sea 
With its shadows of blue — 
A sea touched with fire. 
Purple black are the pines 

On the shore 

And the rocks 

Gleam as silver. 

There is music — 
Voices singing "Du gamla du friska!" 
And the green mystery — 

The message 
Of the Northern Lights. 



26 



ON THE ROAD TO ST. GATIEN'S 



T 



HE rush of the wind and the curlew's 



cry, 

The clear, silver twist of the stream, 
A comforting glimpse of the star-lit sk}^ 
And the hush of the flowers that dream. 

The old, dear house and the gate in sight, 
A fragrance of roses, the sweet far call 

Of sleepy wood things all saying good-night. 
And love broods over it all. 

For M. L. 



11 



IRISH SPRING 

IT is fairy time in Ireland 
In the Spring, 
With the golden hush of starshine on the hill. 
Gleaming veils of silver dew, 
Mystic shadow^s soft and blue, 
Oh, it's wondertime in Ireland 
In the Spring. 

My heart flies far to Ireland 

In the Spring, 
With the silence of its secrets still untold. 
Flowering may, rose, pink and white, 
Fairies dancing in the night. 
It is magic time in Ireland 

In the Spring. 

It is dreaming time in Ireland 

In the Spring, 

With the fields of cowslips gleaming in the 

sun. 

And the tender fragile sheen 

Of the softest, palest green 

Of the leaves that bud in Ireland 

In the Spring. 

1 

O, God keep Ireland safe through 
All the Spring! 

28 



It is her holy time in all the year. 
Violets blue and primrose frail, 
Columbine and lilies pale, 
Breathe peace and love to Ireland 
In the Spring. 



29 



MY LITTLE HOUSE 

NO one knows my little house, 
No one but me; 
I have fashioned it myself 
And moulded the key. 

Windows wide to hold the light, 

Little doorstep too — 
Roof of tangled roses wild, 

Silver pink with dew. 

Just a little, little house — 

Will it come true? 
Let me take you to my heart 

And show it to you. 



30 



AN IRISH GARDEN 

I SAW a garden on a summer night; 
Crimson roses sweet, and touched with 
dew, 
Winding paths and wondrous mystic light, 
Silence, and a rose-touched wind that blew. 

I saw a garden on a summer night; 

The flowers and trees in moonlight silver 
gleamed. 
Larkspur blue and lilies pure and white. 

Through the gentle darkness idly dreamed. 

I loved a garden on a summer night 

And breathed the scent of roses growing 
there. 
Through the dusk and shadows I found light, 
Love and peace were round me, every- 
where. 

For F, P. 

Priorslandj Carricmines, Ireland 



31 



LONELINESS 

pATHS that wind through the dreaming 
-■- gorse, 

Winding on to the far away 
Where the deep rose of the heather hills 
Fades to the heart of the evening gray; 
There where the dreams of the long ago 
Whisper as they go wandering by 
And the rise and fall of the purple moor 
Fades to the edge of a starless sky, 
Loneliness — 



n 



THE HUNT 

^ i^ HE wind was still and the sky was gray, 
-*- The air was filled with the morning 
sweet 
And the hunting coats were scarlet and gay. 
Laughter was there and friends to greet, 
The pack aquiver, the horn's last call, 
A wood creature's heart beating high with 

dread, 
What is the end and aim of it all? 
Only a small gray rabbit dead 
Worn and torn she was lying there — 
And they said that day that the hunt was 
fair. 



33 



A PHANTOM SAIL 

TF from the dim and silent sea, 

"*- The miles of misty sea seen through the 

gloom, 
You could come sailing back to me 
Prom your wonderful grave in the sea's green 
tomb, 

If just at twilight as the world seems sleeping, 
Far off I saw j^ou in some shadowy boat 
And nearer, even nearer, you came creeping, 
Floating as the water-lilies float; 

Until you reached the strand, and close beside 

me 
Anchored your frail craft and whispered low 
That you had come from depths of mystery. 
Because you knew on earth I loved you so; 

I should bid you to sail back from me, 
No phantom sign of you could give me rest, 
But rather would I hold the memory 
Of your deep love that made my life so blest. 



34 



A WISHING WELL 

DEEP in the heart of a fairy dell, 
Far from the world and men, 
I know a moss-grown wishing well, 
Safe in a primrose glen. 

Many a secret whispered there, 
Many a wish breathed low. 

Many a hope and a promise fair, 
With only the well to know. 



35 



RED ROSE 

"VT'OU said that I was a rose 
-*- Just a red, red rose to you, 
One time as we strayed through a sunny lane 
In the way that we used to do. 

And so when the rain beats ceaselessly 
And the chill of the keen wind blows, 
I think of the magical sun-touched day, 
When you told me I was a rose. 



36 



MY ROOM 

I HAVE a room in my dreams, 
A long, turf-scented room, 
Where in a fire-place flames die low, then leap 
And gild the golden fur of a cat asleep. 
Chintz of mauve and rose and gray, 
A couch drawn near the fire, 
And curtains of corn-flower blue that sway 
And bring a message from the Irish moor 
Outside, and show a glimpse of darkening 

purple. 
And the strange entrancing lure of the heather. 
There are roses in my room. 
Pale pink and gold. 
And through the wistful tender gloom. 
Faces of my friends gleam — 
There are always friends in this room of my 
dreams. 

For Billy 



37 



TO SYDNEY 

A WELL-WORN coat, a pipe, his gun, 
-^ ^ A letter written just before — 
Resting now, the warfare done. 

His cheer)^ message comes no more. 

He was a soldier, first and last; 

You're thinking of his sunny smile, 
Now that his gallant soul has passed. 

And left you wearying, the while. 

He always, always played the game; 

He was so simple and so fine 
He never even thought of fame. 

The deed he did was half divine. 

He only knew the soldier's part, 
He braved the awful shell to save 

A black man, and his faithful heart 
Is stilled deep in a glorious grave. 

{In memory of Captain A. St. J. Go7-e, 
Gurhka Rifles, killed in action^ June^ IQIS-) 



38 



HOWTH 

HEATHER hills of pink and purple red, 
Gleam of the golden gorse and hum of 
bees, 
Blue, pale sky from which the stars have fled — 
Dawn's first whisper stirs and sways the 
trees. 

Hungry goats that climb the mountain steep, 
Gentle bleat of lambkins soft and low. 

The little village waking from its sleep, 
Deep within the valley far below. 

Ivy-covered, beautiful and cold. 

Wild woods round it, turrets tall and gray, 
Stands an eerie castle, grim and old. 

Watching for the coming of the day. 

Ruffled sea, green-gray and touched with 

shade. 

Fishing boats red-sailed, the sea-gull's cry. 

And lying near, some jagged rocks have made 

A strange, fantastic Isle called Ireland's 

Eye. 

For Vaudine 



39 



COLOR 

GOLD of the swamp, gold of the sky, 
Scarlet of cardinals flying, 
Green of the sea, green of the land, 
Red of the sun's late dying. 

Purple of finches, swish of their wings. 
Gray little love-birds peeping, 

Bronze of the oriole's burnished breast. 
Black of the shadows creeping. 



40 



"THE FACE OF ESTHER" 

TT^ROM the dusk of a long, dark corridor 
-*- To the shine of the pale moonlight, 
A face comes, haunting me evermore, 
Gaping out into the night. 

And the old French garden seems to be 

Soft in the mystic beams, 
A phantom garden, under the sky 

A moon-lit vision of dreams. 

Where the shadows are darkest of all, 
In the corridor's sombre shade. 

There glistens a beam by the moon let fall, 
A path by the moonlight made. 

And there through the mist of years I see 

A face that is strange and fair, 
And eyes that are gazing across at me 

From the moon-touched window there. 

O, wondrous face of the long ago, 

O, charm of a by-gone day, 
O, dream too dear to keep — for lo, 

It fades in the dusk away. 



41 



WHICH? 

HERE are emeralds from ancient lands, 
Do you care for these? 

Or diamonds blue, 

Deep in fairy settings? 
I have had wrought for you 
Rare strings of curious beauty 

And an opal girdle, 
You must wear this peach-blow gown 
And a wisp of pearl-strewn tissue 

Shall wrap you round. 

This is not jo)' — you say? 

You would rather don your smock of brown 

And your stockings gray 

And wander o'er the hills 
And by a wild wood fire cook 
Your evening meal — then dream 
Of a small clean house and a brook 
Close by, and children's laughter 

This is joy — you say? 



42 



SHAN O' INCHICHORE 

SURE a rare lad, a brave lad, 
Was Shan o' Inchichore. 
Minny an auld wife loved the lad, 
Minny a colleen's heart was sad, 

Whin he wint to the awful war. 

Oh! he danced so gay, he danced so light, 

Young Shan o' Inchichore. 
He danced on the green of a summer night, 
He sang home songs in the Irish light, 

Before he wint off to the war. 

Oh! he fought so brave, he fought so well, 

Young Shan o' Inchichore. 
The auld waives keened a weary knell, 
The wind sighed sad our grief to tell. 

Whin they killed our Shan, at the war. 



43 



A STAR-LIT HOUR 

O TILL in the depths of a star-lit hour, 
*^ By a lonely sea I stood, 
And in my soul I felt the power 
Of infinite love and good. 

Life seemed simple, and calm, and pure, 
Under the stars, in the moon's pale light, 

And I thought, tho' the world has much to 
endure. 
All that is Real is Right. 

Above and beyond all pain and sin 

Is the light of wonderful love. 
And into my thoughts this love crept in. 

As I gazed at the stars above. 

And I knew that all that is dark and wrong 

Must fade and pass away, 
And my heart was filled with a joyful song, 

As I watched for the coming day. 

For E. S. 



44 



THE DEVIL'S GLEN 

/^H, we were glad as we rode away 
^^ From the devil's glen with its paths so 

drear, 
Dim and grim and edged with fear, 
And its eerie shadows dark and gray. 

All the air of the fields we quaffed 
As we fled from the glen with its tears untold 
Into the dream of a sunset gold, 
With the wild flowers and wind and trees we 
laughed. 

Away from the glen with its haunting pain 
Where secrets of weary ages sleep 
And silent wraiths of sorrow creep. 
We ride to the joy of the world again. 



45 



THE FRIENDS 

A BOY once played upon the shores of a 
bay, 
A boy with wistful eyes, whose name was 
John. 

And the lark, 
The singing joy of the world, 
Came and sang to him, 
Filling the air with delicate rapture. 
And always his message was, — 

You have a friend. 
When the silver mountains were strangely 

clear, 
And the bay was swept with gold, or in the 

dim twilight, 
When the blossoms of the fig trees whispered, 
The boy would stand with his head bowed 

And thankfulness 
Would breathe from him — 
The name of his friend was Jesus. 

For P. W. 



46 



CHRISTMAS EVE 

To My Father and Mother 

WINDING and weary streets 
And the cruel jangle of day 
Still sounding 
Through the night. 
Grim and harsh laughter, 
Then a silence, 
As from the pasture lands 
There comes a breath 
Of dawn. 

Voices of the town — 
The restless crowded town — 
Are stilled, 
And a beggar 

Stops the curse upon his lips 
And says the moonlight 

Seems so strange, 
And that the stars 

Are whispering. 

Some murmur that the morrow 

Will dawn clearly, 

For the East is very white. 

There a star 

That holds the beauty 

Of all worlds, is quivering, 
47 



And peace 

Touches the weary, winding streets, 

And the restless jangle 

Of the waiting city. 



48 



"THE MINE" 
To W. L. C. 

WHERE the brown earth 
Holds a secret 
They are delving deep 
Into the heart 
Of mystery. 
As the sweet wonder 
Of sun 
After darkness, 
Gilds the rim 

Of the world, 
So the gold lives 
Through the dusky caverns 
Of earth. 
. As through the weariness 
Of grief, 
And the misery 

Of sin, 
Love eternal shines and purifies; 
So the gold 
Is washed 
To shining beauty — 
Cleansed from the earth 
And darkness 
That covered ft. 



49 



